Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  “You might be right, John. Perhaps I am a monster. But I’ve discovered something truly enlightening. Something which I want to share with you. And in sharing with you, I believe you will be cured. Do you want to know what it is?”

  “No.” He flinched as her cold fingers ran down his neck. “You can’t corrupt me.”

  “I could if I wanted to.” She moved over him, sitting astride his torso. Her hand reaching down. Down to cup him.

  “No.” He sucked a deep breath but his body responded on its own. Tears flicked free of the corner of his eyes. “Harpy! Stop it!”

  Her laughter was no longer beautiful to his heart. Her smile no longer warmed his soul.

  And her hands, squeezing his balls, were no longer gentle.

  Just as he was about to scream, she suddenly let him go.

  Laughter cut off with a snap of her jaw and she bent over his neck. Mouth pressing against his ear. Her voice, a honeyed whisper slithering into his skull. “John? Can you see the lights inside your mind? I can. I see them like they were tiny stars. I see them inside everyone. I thought I was truly cursed when I first saw them. But now I want to show you something. Something important. Only then can you understand.”

  “No. I won’t.” He foamed at the mouth as his brain began to send flickers and flashes of light cruising into his vision. “No!”

  The sharp pain in his neck made him roar. Would have kept screaming, but her hand planted firmly across his mouth and pushed him hard into the bed. A furious hunger alight in her eyes as her fangs drove deeper into his flesh. Blood spurted, a torrential river on which she gorged.

  His dry screams became rasps.

  Heard gunshots.

  The hiss of Lucy’s breath as she snarled; “Van Helsing.”

  Hope touched the edge of his mind, but Death reached with lightning speed. Grabbed Doctor John Seward by his hand.

  Began to pull.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Van Helsing held the revolver low at his side. Bag in gnarled left hand. His breathing was slow.

  Eyes squinted as they searched the shadows lurking ahead of him. Tongue sliding across lower lip.

  Could hear the steady drip of water.

  As he made the bottom of the stairs, he couldn’t stifle his outraged gasp.

  The room’s floor was mostly moist earth and broken stone tiles. The walls were uncut stone. Rough and hard. Exuding an air of permanence despite a few cracks running crisp across their face. It was primal. Occult.

  Evil.

  A small figure was crouched in the back of the cellar. Shrouded in a dark hooded coat. Not Lucy, though. He knew that much.

  Female. Whispering to herself. Soft whispers which carried no word the vampire hunter could understand.

  Whispers which rasped against every deliberate brush stroke and sent shivers down Van Helsing’s spine. He watched the shrouded figure work. Work to paint coiled lines of runes across the walls.

  Every wall was covered in them. Small dark runes which Van Helsing recognised as the true tongue of Hell. They glittered in the dark as if the foul essence of their origin was burning beneath the blood which served as ink.

  Blood from the bucket at the woman’s hip.

  Taken warm from a body still swinging in the centre of the room from its ankles. The wet drip from a hole in its throat, not from a water pipe as the old vampire hunter had expected.

  “Do you like it?” The woman asked without turning. Her voice was raw. Each word scraped across hoarse vocal chords. “Do the words excite you, Professor Van Helsing? Thrill you? Or do they horrify you? Disgust you? Strike fear into your bones? My Mistress wants to know.”

  Van Helsing lifted his revolver and kept the muzzle aimed at the figure’s back. “No. They do not frighten me. Not at all.”

  Wet chuckle. “Well. Boo hoo to you.”

  “Turn around. Slowly.”

  “Now is not the time for turning, Professor. Now is the time for writing! For sending a message. Do you see? Do you see the message?”

  “I said, turn around.”

  “Pull the trigger if you must, but I shall not turn.”

  Ven Helsing winced.

  Cocked his head.

  Watched as the woman dipped brush into the blood and pulled it out, ready to scrawl again.

  The vampire hunter sighed.

  And pulled the trigger.

  The blast shocked his arm and sent a bullet smashing into the back of her head. Skull exploded outward, spitting blood and bone into a gory heap.

  Slumping without cry, she twitched once and was still.

  Van Helsing rushed over, face screwed into an expression of disgust at the stink of old blood rising from the damp earth. Rolled the body over. Not much was left of her face, but she’d been old. A crone. Her withered fingers showed a lifetime of struggle in their hard skin.

  “Who were you?” He asked the dead woman.

  “Nobody,” someone said.

  He swivelled in his crouch, gun held in front of him. A young man stood at the foot of the stairs. His face blank of expression. Long arms hanging limp at his sides. Marks on his throat showed the recent kiss of a vampire.

  “Stay back,” Van Helsing warned.

  The young man shrugged and began walking toward him. “Pull the trigger if you must, Professor,” he said. “But I will write on the wall. If you kill me, another will come. And another. And you will have no bullets left. Then you will need to strangle us with your bare hands. How long can you keep that up, old man? How long before your brittle fingers lack the strength to squeeze? No matter how long it takes, the wall will be finished.”

  Van Helsing moved sideways, recognising the logic as true.

  “Who are you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Come now. You must have had a name.”

  “My name is no longer important.”

  “Then surely there’s no harm in telling me what it used to be,” he said carefully as the man stopped to pick up the bucket of blood. Then the brush. Dipped it. Began to smear blood across the stone. “Is there?”

  “No. There is no harm.”

  “Then, why don’t you tell me?”

  Shrugged. “I told you. It’s no longer important, so I don’t remember it. My mind no longer has use for it.”

  “Don’t you think that’s strange? Your name defines who you are.”

  “That is a lie.” The man dipped the brush into blood. Slow movements. He had no reason to hurry. “It is my actions which define me.”

  “And how will anyone remember what you’ve done? Look at this wall. Wouldn’t you like everyone to know who created it?”

  “Look at this bucket,” the man said. “Beautiful thing. Very nicely made. Do you know who made it? Can you tell me his name?”

  “No.” Van Helsing felt a bubble of impatience form in his belly. “Don’t be absurd. It’s just a bucket.”

  The man paused.

  Turned slightly and looked up at the vampire hunter. A look of pity on his face. “It mattered to its maker.”

  “Forget the bucket,” Van Helsing growled. “Can’t you see what she’s done to your mind?”

  “Oh, yes.” He nodded enthusiastically. “I can see it very clearly. She broke it. It was in one piece. But she took it and pulled it apart. I can still see what it used to be among the broken pieces. It’s all there. Like the shell of an egg. Pieces of a puzzle. I could put them back together if I wanted and tell you the story of my life.”

  “Good. Good.” He knelt in front of the man. “Now, fight it. You can resist her. You can have your mind back. All your memories. Everything that you are. All that you were. You can have it back.”

  “I was unemployed. Weren’t any jobs for someone like me. I lived in an alley. I ate whatever I could find. I found a body, once. Pretty young girl. Maybe eight years old, she was. I cut off her leg and cooked it. Wasn’t much meat, but it was something. Have you ever eaten a young girl, Professor?” The man smiled. “I cried f
or days. Do you know why I cried? I cried because I was full. I had done a terrible thing, but I was full. And it was the best meat I’d had in years. But it was a girl. God, I would see her face every night when I dreamed. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sure we all do terrible things to survive.”

  “See? You don’t understand. You’ve probably never been hungry. Your parents put you through a nice school. You went to university. Your name must have meant an awful lot to a lot of people, which is why you treasure it. And now you can travel all over the world on the coattails of your name. Must be a nice life. You’d never think of eating a little girl’s leg. No. Only the best cuts of prime beef for you. You couldn’t understand what it must feel like to be that desperate. That lost. And I ask you, Professor. I ask you, whose fault is that? Was it mine? I worked. I worked hard, I did. It ain’t an easy life in the mines. Sooner or later, my lungs will collapse like an old shaft. That’s the only reward I’ll get. You want me to go back to that, do you? Yes. Of course you do. Back to my place at the foot of your kind. You pretend you want to know my name. You pretend you care for my fate. But you don’t. You just want to know where she is. Once you have that, you’ll walk away without a care. You’ll forget my name.”

  “No, I won’t.” He took the man’s shoulder. “Please. Fight her. She’s corrupted your soul. Listen to what you’re saying. I’m sure you never thought this way before, did you? Can’t you see?”

  “I can see. Which is why I know that I don’t need to fight. Not anymore. I’m done with fighting. I fought all my life. Don’t need to now. But I just wanted you to know that. She’s upstairs, Professor Van Helsing. She was never down here. But she’d like you to stay here, if you don’t mind. She says you won’t be permitted to leave. I’m sure you understand.”

  Van Helsing gripped the man harder. “What are you saying? What is this? This writing?”

  “It’s for the Queen. The Queen is coming. The Queen will know. It is for her. All of it.”

  “Queen? What Queen?”

  “Wait, Professor,” the man said. Dipped the brush and turned back to the wall. “Patience. There’s no need to fight. It will all be clear to you soon.”

  Ven Helsing shot him in the neck. Blew more blood over the wall. The bullet itself exited flesh and drilled into the wall with a crack.

  “Bastard,” Van Helsing hissed.

  “It won’t do you any good,” another voice said. “We are many.”

  “So many,” another said.

  He turned.

  Two figures. A woman and another youth. Hands clasped in the casual way of lovers. Grinning widely.

  He aimed the revolver. “Get out of my way.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “I said, move!”

  The youth bounded at him like a wolf, arms outstretched and mouth gaping. In the flash of moments, Van Helsing pulled the trigger two times, dropping the boy. Then aimed at the woman, who stared with distant sadness at the body. “Oh,” she said. “You killed Geoffrey.”

  “So, he had a name?”

  “Yes. We all do.”

  “What’s yours?”

  The woman’s smile returned. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”

  He shot her, too. She didn’t resist.

  Ran to the stairs and looked up.

  Three men. Large. Staring down at him with empty gazes. “You’re nearly out of bullets, Professor.”

  “What will you do then, Professor?”

  “I think he’ll use maths at us.”

  “Maths?”

  “Yes. The sorcery of wealthy men.”

  “I don’t like sorcery.”

  “I don’t like wealthy men.”

  They advanced on him. “Don’t try to leave, Professor.”

  Van Helsing’s heart danced and he reached into the bag. Pulled out a vial. Filled with dark purple liquid. Hefted it in his hand. Reluctant to pull the stopper. “Keep away from me,” he said. “Get back. Or you’ll regret it.”

  “Regret it?” One of the burly men cracked his knuckles. “Doubt that.”

  “Jonathan!” Van Helsing roared.

  “Jonathan,” mimicked one of the men. Laughed. “Forget about him, Professor.”

  “Yeah. Forget about him. He’s dead.”

  “Adele’s got him between her teeth.”

  “Likes when they’re between her teeth, she does.”

  “Loves it.”

  “What have you done?” Van Helsing hissed. Popped the cork on the vial. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

  “Nothing.” The big man was only a few steps away. “Just left him to Adele. She wanted him so bad.”

  “Adele?”

  “You called her Polly.”

  “Polly,” another sniggered. “Which one’s she?”

  “The nice one.”

  “Innocent one,” the third said.

  “I like her.”

  “Don’t listen to them, Professor,” the third said, crossing his arms. “They’re fucking crazy.”

  Van Helsing aimed his revolver. “I won’t tell you again. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. I will if it means saving the world from the creature which has corrupted and enslaved you to her bidding.”

  The three looked at each other, bemusement in their wide faces. “Corrupted?”

  “Enslaved?”

  “Don’t know what he’s fucking on about.”

  “He’s a toff. They like using their fancy words to tell us what to do.”

  “I’m warning you,” Van Helsing said, voice edging into a shriek. His other hand trembling around the small vial. “Get out of my way!”

  “No,” they said as one. “You are here to stay.”

  He shot the closest first. Bullet entering through the eyeball. Turned it to mush before spearing through brain and bone and spinning out at an angle which saw the bullet bury itself in one of the stairs.

  The other two let out a roar, their voices merged into one alien sound which left the old vampire hunter shaken.

  Shaken enough that he pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  And again.

  Click.

  No bullets left.

  His face drained of colour as hands began to reach for him.

  “Stay,” the two men groaned in mindless unison. “Stay!”

  Lifting the vial to his mouth, he suddenly went rigid with shock as two quick shots were fired one after the other.

  Two bullets, each finding flesh.

  Two fresh bodies rolled down toward him and he had to lunge to one side as they tumbled. Looked up to see Jonathan Harker at the top of the stairs.

  The young man’s face pale. Eyes dribbling tears.

  Gasping for air.

  And blood pouring from his neck in a wide ribbon of red.

  Harker dropped his revolver and slumped onto his side in the doorway. Choking up red-soaked bubbles of spit. Murmuring; “Abraham. Abraham.”

  “Jonathan!” Van Helsing went up the stairs as fast as he could. “God. Was it her? Did she bite you?”

  “Not vampire,” the young man managed to cough. “Polly. Was Polly. Went crazy.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Dead. Killed her.” Harker looked down at his gun even as Van Helsing looked across the floor to the open doorway. Could make out Polly’s legs lying in a pool of her own blood.

  The old man grunted. “I should have guessed. I should have known! Of course she would be Lucy’s thrall.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “The truth cannot be denied.” He lifted the vial and eyed it reluctantly before pressing it to Harker’s lips. “Drink this. Don’t ask what it is. Just drink. It will heal your wounds. But it has side effects, Jonathan, and you will need to concentrate. Do you hear me? You will need to concentrate very hard if you are to remain in control. It is vital you do not lose control. Now, you are a good man at heart. And strong of mind and spirit. So, this should be no challenge to you. Just listen
to me and everything will be fine. Do you understand?”

  Weakly, Harker pushed at him. “No. Go. Go, Abraham. More coming. Go.”

  “Don’t be a fool.” He slapped the young man with a snarl. “Drink!”

  Harker drank.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The world squeezed into a tight ball around his body. Knotted and rough. It pressed against his skin. Compressed his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe.

  He wanted to break loose. The heat. The awful heat. He could feel his blood boiling. Each gulp of air was like an intake from a steam valve. Heating the engine his lungs were fuelling.

  Sweat ran slick down his face.

  Someone was talking to him. An old man. He blinked up at the strange old creature.

  Who was he? He looked familiar. But, no matter how far he reached into his shallow memory pool, he couldn’t come up with a name. Was he important?

  No, he decided.

  Not important.

  But the old man kept droning on.

  And on.

  And on.

  Words. So many words. They hurt his ears.

  Visioned blurred as a surge of electricity crackled through his body. It ripped through his flesh and arced from bone to bone. Leaping with frenzied delight into every corner of his body with a searing pump of energy which left him shaking on his side.

  Teeth grit tight against each other. Tongue pressed tight to the roof of his mouth.

  Taste of ozone and copper. Sparks shot through his gums, snapping at his lips as they were ejected. He watched them fizzle in the air before another rain of voltage coursed through him like the punch of an angry god.

  When it was over, he stared at the old man.

  Who kept talking.

  A stern tone which he didn’t like the sound of.

  “Jonathan! Stop staring like a fool and listen to me.”

  The old man reached a hand, which he slapped away.

  Jonathan. Was that really his name?

  It didn’t sound right.

  The old man seemed to think it was right, though. Kept saying it.

  Jonathan this. Jonathan that.

  The old man reached again, and once more he had to slap the hand away.

  Wanted to tell him to keep his hands to his fucking self.

  But, words. Words hurt.